We avoid the
word death. Darkened by
deceptions, we turn
away, close our eyes
We are told to cheer
up, as if emotions could be denied,
as if getting over was simply done.
We avoid the
word death. The wheel turns,
but not always towards
the light. Don’t tell us
that time will heal
the scars, that everything will be all right.
We must remember—all the names—now gone.
For earthweal, where the theme is All Souls.
I did this collage for one of Jane’s prompts last year, but I think it works as well with this poem.
What do we say to death when
it insists on arriving despite the fact that we
are not ready? We still have love
that needs to be given. We
haven’t said all that we feel
to those who need to know. It
is never the right time, is it? That’s all.
(a shovel poem after Robert S. Carroll “This Much”)
I get daily emails of poetry from several sources. I don’t have time to read them all, but I look at least one every day. Yesterday when I opened the Rattle email to the poem “This Much” by Robert S. Carroll, about the death of his father, I was stopped in my tracks. I read it over several times, and then wrote this shovel poem from the ending thought “When we love, we feel it all”. I urge you to read Carroll’s poem here.
For dVerse OLN, hosted by Sanaa, and another response to Sarah’s prompt to have a conversation with another poet/poem.
I know everyone is obsessed with Donald Trump right now, but 4000 people died yesterday in the United States from Covid-19.
Durham family mourns death of 8-year-old, first child to die from COVID-19 in North Carolina
After four days at UNC Medical Center in Chapel Hill, Aurea Soto Morales passed away June 1 from complications associated with COVID-19.
I have not
seen angels rising
nor skies fall
veil that portals heavens to
earth is filled with light,
space or time.
I have not
become old here, nor remained
young—all is always.
I know things
I have never seen,
that travel the
distances concealed between
never and right now.
Love holds me
with mythical wings,
jewels of azure and night–
I can touch the moon.
Laura, at dVerse, asks us to write about someone who has died, someone we do not know. “By way of poetic resurrection, we see them live again.”
Aurea as a name for girls has its root in Latin, and the meaning of Aurea is “wind; golden; dawn”
The collage is another of my postcard fictions done for a Jane Dougherty prompt in 2016, which came to my mind after seeing Merril’s Monday Morning Musings photos of light.